Scott and Stonebridge: The Mannequin's Vengeance
by QuestRunner
Summary: Sequel to Scott and Stonebridge: Tracking the Marksman. A new adversary, coined The Mannequin, seeks to destroy Section 20 and take out Philip Locke-at whatever the cost! With a looming volcanic eruption, a tea crisis, and a potential mole on the inside, will Stonebridge prevail? Will he get his Bravo One clearance back? And will Scott ever find the nerve to propose to Richmond?
1. Chapter 1

Grant had allowed the whole team some time off after the Marksman affair, and the newly appointed Knight and his super hot fiancé, Martinez, were looking forward to some much needed R&R. Michael had grilled some really manly American steaks and was whipping out the drinks when he heard a knock on his apartment door.

"Scott, for the last time, we're not going salsa dancing with you and Richmond!" Stonebridge decided to ignore the insistent knocking and didn't move to open the door.

"HEY! MIKEY! Get your ass over here! Salsa dancing starts in five minutes!" Scott pounded on the door and fiddled with the blasted knob. Richmond only smiled warmly and tugged on his elbow.

"Just leave them be, Damien. They probably want to enjoy a nice meal alone. Besides, we still have a dinner date planned, remember?" She batted her eyelashes.

"NO! Mikey's been a complete douchewad ever since he became a knight! He's coming! And I'm gonna drink all his pansy wine before he gets the chance to try it!" Scott kicked in the door with a flourish and launched himself at his partner. He tried to wrench the wine bottle from Stonebridge's hands.

"M-My door!" Stonebridge squawked as it flew off its hinges. He barely had time to register the damage before Scott was grabbing for the wine bottle. They grappled shortly before Scott's temper got the better of him and he drop kicked the bottle out of Stonebridge's death grip and into his HD 70 inch plasma 3D TV. "My 1600 year old wine! My TV!" Michael wailed as his partner dragged him and Martinez out of the house.

"Stop being so selfish, Mikey! You've gotta live a little and start thinking of others!"

Ever the prude, Stonebridge pulled himself out of his partner's grip and straightened his Strike Back logo shirt.

"I'd like to have you know that Kim and I have our own PRIVATE lives now, outside of Section 20! C'mon, Damien, we see each other EVERY DAY!" His temptress fiancé ran her hands across Stonebridge's muscular pecs.

"I dunno, Michael. Maybe we could go dancing...as long as you can be shirtless."

"It's mandatory for the women...optional for the men," Scott purred and faltered when Richmond playfully punched him in the arm.

"He's lying, Kim. You can dress however you want. But I'm sure you'll find a way to "lose" Michael's shirt before the lesson." Martinez grinned.

"That's it, my little British biscuit! We're going!" Scott chortled and shot his friend a stupid grin.

"Good to have you back, Mikey! Shots are on me! Better than that wine bullshit you were planning. Bet you were gonna sneak in some tea and crumpets afterward, weren't you?"

"WAS NOT!" Stonebridge huffed, his shirt surprisingly missing from his handsome as hell hot bod. He mentality reminded himself to hide the tea and crumpets he'd prepared for later when they got back from dancing. "Martinez, what happened to my shirt?"

Michael's mood hadn't improved much by the time they reached the salsa class, but at least Scott had managed to find him a decent shirt, much to Martinez's dismay. With a mixture of shock and horror (and a dash of manly pride) Stonebridge found out he was a stellar dancer and Scott pretty much sucked. The Brit was actually starting to have fun dancing with his partner when their instructor, Father Time, collapsed from exhaustion and asked Section 20's golden boy to finish teaching the class. Michael went numb with embarrassment as stupid Scott laughed at him behind his back!

Scott twirled his maracas in the air and caught a rose in his mouth just as Richmond swept him into a complicated partner flip they'd picked up from superstar Stonebridge and Martinez.

"Whaddaya think, Mikey? Ready to hit laser tag next? Bet me and my girl will leave you crying on the ground like a little baby!" The pair fist bumped proudly.

"We do have the high score," Richmond added with a laugh.

"We had to make a bunch of kids cry to get that damn score and no one's gonna beat it EVER!" Scott declared. Before he could continue, an obnoxious slow clap echoed throughout the ballroom and a cloaked figure prowled along the balcony overseeing the dance hall. One of the dancers cut the Latin music for dramatic effect.

"Section 20. Well, well, well. We finally meet."

"Who the hell are you?" Michael spat, dropping the piñata that he'd been planning to use for the next number. The figure chuckled, but the hood obscured the stranger's face.

"I see that Philip Locke isn't with you. Too bad. Perhaps I'll be able to meet him if I endanger his star pupils. Say goodbye, Section 20!" The gloved hand pressed a button and fled from the room just as an explosion splintered the floor and sent the dancers careening into the chasm below.

Stonebridge was furious. Not only had some no name thug interrupted his masterful salsa dancing class, but on top of that he'd lost his free dance class voucher! Slowly getting to his feet, Stonebridge did a head count and assessed their current situation. The entire ballroom floor had been obliterated, landing his team, the other couples and Papa Smurf in the basement. They couldn't climb out and the varying darkness made it hard to make out his immediate surroundings.

"KIM!" Michael called, going to his fiancé's side.

"How the HELL," she groaned, "do these terrorists know exactly who and where we are when we work for a super secret unit that doesn't officially exist?!" Michael brushed her hair out of her face and looked up dramatically while pretty much just ignoring her question. He stood up shakily and addressed the group as a whole.

"My name is Sir Sergeant Michael Stonebridge with the British military intelligence. Is everyone okay?" He received a few murmured assurances before Scott's grating voice made its grand entrance.

"Mikey, I'm hurt!" Stonebridge heard Richmond's cry of anguish and rolled his eyes.

"Scott, no. I've battled neurotoxins, had my shoulder knocked out of place by a giant AND survived more explosions than you. I'm sure you're fine -"

"MY ARM IS PINNED DOWN BY A METAL BAR, WHAT DO YOU THINK?!"

The ruggedly sexy agent squirmed against the bar locking his shooting arm in place.

"F me! This is all your fault, MIKEY! If Papa Smurf over here had taught the class then he probably would've sent our asses home early but NNNOOOOOO you had to step up like a good little ballerina and pick up the slack!" Stonebridge scowled and stomped toward his comrade, purposely tripping over the bar and making Scott grimace.

"That's SIR Mikey to you, Scott! We wouldn't be in this mess if you'd kept out of my private dinner sexy romantic candlelit evening with Kim! I made steaks! STEAKS! On a charcoal grill and everything!" Martinez and Richmond exchanged glances and crossed their arms.

"Get a grip, my piping hot little teacup," Martinez snapped, but added in a sexy wink for her British biscuit's eyes only. "We've got to be smart about this. That jackass might still be creeping around. I'm gonna call Grant and see if her and Baxter can get in touch with Locke. You stay here with Scott and try to free his blasted arm." Before Stonebridge could protest, Richmond informed them that she would round up the dance class and try to find a safe path out of the rubble. Scott's bottom lip trembled.

"B-but JULIA! Don't leave me! I'd much rather have a hot chick look after me than a smartass Brit that drives on the wrong side of the road!"

"Well...then FINE! I'm not lifting that bar until you apologize, you greedy, self-absorbed asshole!" Michael retorted, crossing his arms. Martinez grimaced at her cell phone then gave the boys an apologetic smile.

"No signal. I'm gonna follow my bestie Julie and see if I can get Grant on the line." Stonebridge blew Kim a kiss, which she caught with a flourish, and soon the women and their charges were gone...except for Father Time. He opted to stay with the duo because he was 1) scared of the dark 2) too exhausted to move and 3) sure to be a liability. No one spoke for awhile until –

"Who the F is Locke?!" Scott screeched in the tiny space. Michael sighed as he realized his dumbo partner probably hadn't read any of their mission reports.

"Grant contacted some guy named Philip Locke right after you were taken by the Marksman, and he's the one who gave us the coordinates for Nina's stupid party. Grant never mentioned him again and we've never met. But I'm sure he'd like to meet a Knight," Michael added, grinning as Scott let out a groan of annoyance. "Alright, I'll take that as an apology, mate." Good guy Stonebridge found a smaller metal beam and was about to use it as leverage when they heard a bloodcurdling scream. "KIM!" Stonebridge roared, but heard no reply. He was torn between freeing his best friend and running after the love of his life! Papa Smurf was of no help and started humming a jazzy Latin tune.

"JULIA!" Scott howled, and gripped the knight by the collar with his free hand. "Buddy, you gotta go help them! I can get my arm out myself!" The American failed to mention the ring in his pocket, or his intentions to propose to Richmond after kicking ass at laser tag. Stonebridge readjusted his grip on the bar.

"I'm not leaving you behind, Damien! Our girls are the most sexy, independent, badass super secret agents Section 20 has to offer! They can take care of themselves!" Scott fidgeted against the metal pressed against his arm.

"I'm serious, Mikey! Do you know why I wanted you and Martinez here so badly-bad enough to kick you out of a horrible dinner date with tea, crumpets, and shitty wine?"

"HEY!" Stonebridge fumed, but Scott continued with a grunt of pain on his oh so hotty hot features.

"It's because I wanted my best buddies here when I...when I...propo-" A gunshot ricocheted over Stonebridge's head, inciting a "bullocks!" from his partner.

Michael tensed at the sound of the gunshot, fearing the worst for his precious fiancé, but stood his ground like a badass. He started to use the smaller bar in his hands as leverage against the thicker pipe pinning down his partner's arm.

"Sorry, mate, didn't catch that last part," he muttered, not really focusing on Scott or his ramblings. The American was probably speaking nonsense as usual, unlike Michael who didn't need attention every hour of every day. The Brit used his sexylicious strength to pry the pipe loose and Scott pulled his arm free, clutching it to his chest. Stonebridge bounded towards the hallway the women had exited, hefting the small bar in his hand as he didn't have any other weapon choices at the moment. Although he was angered and frustrated at their situation, Stonebridge couldn't help a bit of smugness creep into his voice when he exclaimed, "Scott! Oh shoot, too bad your gun arm is injured. Well, why don't you let me lead since I have a better shot of taking down any baddies and you can help out Father Time over there!" Papa Smurf stopped humming at the mention of his nickname and ran to Scott's side. Michael ALWAYS had to babysit the elderly guest stars - now it was someone else's turn!

"Get OFF me, Gramps!" Scott spat as the dance instructor wheezed and wrapped himself around his left arm for support. "Do you want me to have two useless arms? Put your hand on my back and follow me. Do EXACTLY as I say!" Father Time complied, humming as he went. "And don't hum! You're in my world now, hombre!" The elderly man promptly ignored him and continued with the song. The two chocolate chip with sprinkles sinful agents made their way through the tunnel until it opened up into a storage room full of creepy as hell mannequins. Papa Smurf grabbed a fistful of Scott's jacket and scrunched into him in fear. "Ah, hell no, Grandpa! You friggin work here and I know you knew about this shitty room and didn't do anything to get rid of it, so you don't get to be scared! JULIA! JULLIAAAAA!" Stonebridge cleared his throat and yelled for Martinez a tad louder than his partner. Scott caught on and scowled.

"JJJUULLLIIIAAAAA!"

"KKKIIIMMMMMMM!"

"Over here!" They heard Richmond cry from behind the rows of posing silhouettes.

"You know, mate, there was this episode in Doctor Who with mannequins-"

"Shut up, Mikey!" They rounded the corner and saw a sheet flapping lightly, hanging from the ceiling and extending to the floor.

"Okay, we go on zero." Stonebridge said, hefting the bar in his hands. Scott swore.

"We talked about this! It's one, two, three, GO."

"Zero's a real number you wanker! I don't think GO is a number!"

"Why the hell does it matter?"

"Glad you agree. So we go on three, two, one, z-"

"Shut up and get inside," Martinez and Richmond said in unison, pulling their respective men into the adjoining room behind the sheet.

"Are you okay, my love? We heard a shout," Stonebridge murmured romantically as he swept Martinez into his arms. She stroked his chest (woman's gotta cop a feel when she can!) and rolled her eyes.

"Did you SEE those creepy store mannequins?! I can deal with baddies and gunfire but I feel like we're trapped in a horror movie down here!" The slow clap began again, this time emanating from the mannequin room. Michael peeked his head out from the corner of the sheet, metal bar at the ready, but he couldn't locate the source of the noise amongst the lifeless dolls.

"I know you've contacted your supervisor, Ms. Martinez. Good. I'm looking forward to reacquainting myself with the infamous Philip Locke...but not tonight. I'll let him sweat a bit longer. Now, if you and your team give yourselves up right now, I'll let the dancers go and won't detonate the second bomb." Papa Smurf grasped tighter to Scott's jacket, much to the American's annoyance.

"Hell no!" Richmond yelled. The voice chuckled in amusement.

"You don't think I'm serious? I chose this building, this ROOM for a reason. Ask Locke. Tell him the Mannequin sends his regards-"

"Oh HELLS NO! We are not going through this code name bullshit again! From now on, we're gonna call you Manny!" Scott bellowed, receiving an appreciative nod from Stonebridge.

"It's THE MANNEQUIN!" the man reiterated coldly. Scott flipped him the bird through the sheet.

"Stuff it, Manny! We don't negotiate with terrorist scum bags like you!" Gunfire ripped holes through the flimsy fabric as the baddie emptied the clip. The Section 20 agents ducked behind a conveniently placed steel cabinet for cover.

"You misunderstand. This is not a request. The four of you will come with me. I have no intention of keeping the rest of the hostages...alive, anyway...if you decline my gracious invitation. Locke may be in my BLINDSPOT now, but I assure you, sooner or later I'll be able to catch him IN MY SLEEP."

"What in all of British history and delicious tea do you have against Philip Locke?" Stonebridge demanded, risking another look outside the sheet. He stiffened as the metal muzzle pressed against the side of his head.

"This isn't the time for Robinson CRUSOE heroics, Michael. Be a good little soldier and surrender."

"Mikey, there are 300: RISE OF AN EMPIRE reasons why you shouldn't give into this crackerjack!" Scott growled, but the Brit slowly lowered his pipe to the ground and held his hands up in surrender. Richmond and Martinez followed suit while Papa Smurf flopped to the ground in front of Scott's feet. "Not this again! One, he wasn't even talking to you, and two, leave me alone!" Scott groused at the dance instructor, lifting his eyebrows in mock surprise when Manny aimed the gun at his head.

"Hands up, like your buddies here!" the bomber ordered. Scott lazily lifted his left arm, his right clutched tightly against his chest. "BOTH hands!" Scott delivered his God given wiseass smirk.

"My right arm was pinned down thanks to your little explosion earlier. It freaking HURTS!" Manny stepped forward cautiously, as if to inspect the injury caused to the American's arm, when Scott delivered a brutal manly left handed punch to the jerk's face (no small feat for a righty!). Michael used his awesome tree trunk arms to trap him in a chokehold while Richmond and Martinez kicked him in the gut. There was something so sexy about Kim when she was beating the crap out of dirtbags. Michael caught her eye amidst the chaos and winked.

Scott wrenched the gun out of Manny's hands and leveled it at the struggling man's chest.

"F me! That actually worked!" Stonebridge squeezed tighter as their captive tried to break free of his hold.

"I could do this all day, pal!" the Brit said with a slight grin. "And next time you wanna crash a dance party, don't piss off a knight and his princess." Scott's carefree, smokin' hot face suddenly hardened and his gun trained on Manny wavered.

"Mikey, let him go." Stonebridge laughed.

"Good one, mate! I thought you were serious! No way in my hidden hand-me-down grandma's crumpet recipe am I gonna let this pansy-"

"Let him go, Michael," Richmond added and joined Scott's side. Martinez opened her mouth to argue until she saw the red dot hovering on her macho taco's forehead.

"Shit. They've got a sniper. Stand down, Sir British Biscuit Bravo One." The Mannequin chuckled as the Brit released his grip. Scott gestured at his stoic partner.

"We let you go, jackoff! Now it's your turn! Call off your sniper!"

"You're in no position to bandy about orders, Mr. Scott." Manny said evenly, steepling his hands together and trying to regain some of his composure after his humiliating beat down.

"So, what now? You're just gonna have sniper buddy finish us all off? What would that prove?!" Michael growled, wishing for the hundredth time that he and Kim had stayed home and cursing the powers that be for giving him epic dancing abilities. Scott was right - this was all his fault! If he hadn't tried to show off to his fiancée and have some fun they wouldn't be stuck in this mess. He vowed to remain a fun sucking stick in the mud Brit for the rest of his life if it meant keeping Martinez safe.

"Nothing as...indelicate...as that," Manny purred, trying to use big boy words without really understanding the meaning. "In fact, come to think of it, I only need the one hostage in order to capture Locke's attention. Now that the tables are turned in my favor, we negotiate. I'll take the superstar newly minted Knight of Section 20 and the rest of you can leave and join back up with your merry men." A loud chorus of "AWWW HELL NOOOO!" erupted from the four soldiers just as a soft gunshot rang out. Michael flinched. The bullet had grazed his temple and lodged in some random mannequin doll behind him. "That was a warning shot." Manny exclaimed calmly.

"Hey, Scott's a way better fighter than I am and he's also a knight!" Stonebridge huffed desperately amidst Scott's annoyed, "Don't you throw that in my face, Mikey! We all know you're the best so suck it up!"

"You're running out of time, and you'll find that I'm not a very patient man," Manny smirked, earning glares from the four agents.

"Could've fooled me. You've been taking your precious time setting up your little play date with Locke," Scott said. The bomber's face flushed in anger.

"I'M ONLY PATIENT WHEN IT'S CONVENIENT! Now, what's your decision?"

"Do you even have to ask?" Richmond spat. "We won't give up Michael even if he DID just try to throw Damien under the bus with that knighthood reference. We all know Americans can't be REAL knights."

"HEY!" Scott snapped but he was ignored by everyone present, and they missed his whispered, "but I'm your knight in shining armor, Julia." The Brit's face beamed at his team.

"Awww, cheers, mates! I knew you had my back! Take a look, Manny!"

"MANNEQUIN!"

"Whatever. We're a team and we won't leave anyone behind! So you're gonna have to either kill us, and have NO leverage for Locke, or take all of us!"

"Damn straight!" Martinez added and the agents did a four-way high five. Papa Smurf tried to join in but Scott slapped his hand away and the instructor crumpled to the floor in tears and latched himself around Scott's legs. Manny snapped his fingers and the red dot disappeared from Stonebridge's forehead. The heroes gave a collective cheer. Until...

"Oh God. Damien," Stonebridge whispered, his sexy as hell face regarding him with pity. Scott tensed, frozen in place, and noticed Father Time crawling to the other side of the room, distancing himself from the American. Scott nearly fainted from the shock as the red dot lingered on...

"Sweet Jesus and pizza rolls, not the baby maker!"

"Don't worry, Damien. Remember what you said? We don't negotiate with terrorists," Richmond added and gave Scott's arm a light squeeze. "We won't hand you or Michael over to them, no matter what!"

"Uh, Julia, don't you think we can FREAKIN' MAKE AN EXCEPTION?"

Another gunshot rang out and Scott squeezed his eyes shut against the impact...to his knee. "Thank the stars above and the power of love, I'm still a man!" he crowed happily then remembered his right arm was sore and he'd just been freakin' SHOT so why was he celebrating? The bullet had barely grazed the flesh, but like Stonebridge's head wound it was still bleeding and Richmond eyed him with concern. Manny slunk back in the shadows of his creepy ass doll brethren while the sniper's laser dot disappeared from view. Manny's voice echoed through the still air.

"Looks like the cavalry's here. No need for long goodbyes - I'll be seeing you all very, very soon." The four soldiers glanced at each other uneasily before a giant blast rocked the ceiling and a spry fatherly Brit with the most gorgeous blue eyes parachuted through the gaping hole.

"Who's that?" Stonebridge coughed as the debris burned his eyes. The new arrival did a handstand backflip over one of the mannequins and shrugged off the parachute with ease. He withdrew a golden handgun from the holster strapped to his leg.

"Ready to LOCKE and load," the gentleman hissed, cartwheeling to cover behind an assembly of mannequins.

"You're too late, dumbass, Manny and his partner already left," Scott snapped as he limped forward. He stopped when the silver-haired boss man swiveled in his direction.

"Don't LOCKE eyes with me!" he demanded then pointed to Section 20's British beefcake. "We've gotta LOCKE this place down. Fan out and find the rest of the dance class. As for you—" he glared at the American man stud Happy Meal, "LOCKE your trap and get the dance instructor to the copter."

"Uh, boss, don't you want to look at their wounds first?" Martinez said coyly, running her hands over Michael's chiseled abs of—

"KIM! How in John Porter did you take my shirt off?" She hugged him close and didn't answer.

"Why are you complaining, Mikey? Julia never takes my shirt off!" Scott huffed, then balked at his missing pants, thanking the blessed, angelic, Harlequin Romance powers above that he'd remembered to wear his sexier than sexy black boxer shorts instead of going commando. "JULIA!" Richmond shrugged.

"He might as well take a look at that bullet wound. I'll take Father Time back to the plane." The women left with Papa Smurf in tow, leaving the newest agent to regard Bravo Sexy One and Bravo Hot Damn Two with a raised eyebrow.

"You wanna tell me your name, old man?" Scott scowled. Stonebridge, ever the professional kiss ass, flung himself at the older man's feet and knelt on the dirty ground.

"I, Sir Sergeant Michael Stonebridge—" The man stomped on one of Stonebridge's hands.

"Save the theatrics for your drama class. We need to LOCKE on our target and find out where he intends to Strike Back next."

Stonebridge cradled his hand, a wounded puppy dog expression on his face that would bring a choir of angels to tears.

"That's what we've been trying to tell you! Manny and his sniper partner interrupted our salsa dance class and tried to hold us hostage. He led us to this creeptastic doll room and talked about being the Mannequin and that he was trying to lure some douchebag named Philip Locke out-" The older gentleman stopped dead in his tracks, fixing them both with an icy glare.

"And you dumb jocks decided to fight your way out? And then got yourselves SHOT?" Scott puffed out his chest in star spangled pride.

"Damn STRAIGHT we fought off that psycho-" The man sighed and took a sip of hot tea that seemed to magically appear out of nowhere.

"The Mannequin's MO is to douse his bullets with poison. Unfortunately, even with our advanced 21st century technology, there is only one known cure." Scott's mouth fell open in shock. "Of course, your Mannequin buddy is the owner of said cure." Scott started to tremble. "Without the cure, your internal organs will fail in 72 hours." Scott fought back some manly tears. "Recent Intel shows The Mannequin has set up base in an active volcano." Scott let out a shrill scream. The engagement ring in his pocket had never felt so heavy. Michael wasn't so childish and prided himself on being calm and collected.

"BULLOCKS! THIS IS THE WOOOOORRRRSSSSTTTTT!"


	2. Chapter 2

The silver-haired agent ignored Stonebridge's outburst and tried the nearest door.

"LOCKED. Bullocks!" He punched the button on his comm. "This is Bravo One, Philip Locke. I believe our suspect escaped through this passage, but he bolted the door behind him. Requesting immediate assistance with a metallic door, four feet by eight feet, standard LOCKE and key entry-" Michael shoved his partner out of the way in his haste to reach his superior's comm.

"This is the REAL Bravo One, if you should know-!" Grant cut off his voice with an exaggerated sigh.

"Not on this mission, Sergeant! Locke is in every way your better man. I mean, holy freaking cow, did you see his lady killer blue diamond eyes?" Scott skipped forward in a theatric show of bravado to warrant more screen time than his straight-laced British brother-in-arms.

"This ain't no place for no better man, Major! Besides, maybe I could be Bravo One for once!" Scott said hopefully.

"NOOOOOOO!" the trio screamed in unison and paid Scott no heed as he tripped on a creepy ass severed dummy leg and fell in a pile of discarded, headless dolls.

"SWEET MOTHER OF BABY JESUS!" Scott blubbered as he tried to tear himself from the lifeless plastic hands that held him fast. Stonebridge waved a hand dismissively without turning around.

"Could you not be a bloody pain in the ass for one moment, Damien? The grown ups are talking." Locke ended the connection with Grant and traded his magic teacup for a lock picking set.

"What the hell? Where'd the tea cup go?"

"You'll find I can get quite a bit done with just four field officers and a rundown, shitty set of computers in comparison to Grant's Section 20 stronghold and countless off screen backup agents."

"But Grant is freakin' awesome! You and I BOTH know that!" Stonebridge countered. Locke shrugged.

"She's undoubtedly the most badass of all the badasses in the history of badasses. Remember Dalton?"

"Who the fricky frack crepe and crumpets is Dalton?"

"Precisely. I've made my point," Locke continued then swung the door open with ease after a jingle of the picks. "I've never met a LOCKE I can't pick!" The pair rushed into the room, but found no trace of Manny. They located the hidden second bomb but it had already been deactivated, presumably by the bomber's own hand. They eventually rescued their sobbing American after laughing at him in the doll pit until they also became super freaked out by the mannequin graveyard and raced each other to the copter. Locke punched both sinfully sexy agents in the face so he could reach the safety of their getaway heli first. By the time they landed at HQ, Grant was already smashing a Manila folder into no longer Bravo One's British nose.

"This is all the Intel Section 20 has about the Mannequin, his confederates, and his supposed cure," Grant said tartly while Michael flipped the folder open eagerly. His stoic expression became even more dismal.

"But it's one page...double spaced...in Times New Roman 75 point font..." Scott slammed his first into the stainless steel tabletop.

"That's even less than what we had on the Marksman!" Grant pursed her lips in irritation and nodded toward Locke.

"That's why Lieutenant Colonel Philip Locke is joining our team as Bravo One. He's personally involved with the Mannequin's vendetta and can give us further insight. Although he's entirely too old to be a field agent and should have retired twenty years ago, we don't care about rules or regulations here and he'll be out on the front lines with all of you for the duration of this mission. His designation will be Bravo One-" Stonebridge sputtered in obvious distress.

"B-B-But I'm ALWAYS Bravo One!" With another stern glance from Grant, Michael dropped his heart wrenching gaze to the ground. "I guess I'll be Bravo Two, then-" Scott balked like an angry peacock.

"No, I'M Bravo Two!" he whined, while Grant tried to stop herself from strangling them both. Now it was Stonebridge's turn to slam a manly fist on the table.

"I was here FIRST-"

"Enough!" Grant roared, double slapping the men in the face. "Scott will remain Bravo Two. Stonebridge, although you are the sexy man hunk of the team, you can't go stealing other designations! You'll be Bravo Eight, after me, Sinclair and Baxter."

"WHHHAAATTTTT?! Not fair! And why is Baxter still on the team?"

"Who doesn't want a good cuppa tea before we blow things to shit?" Locke asked as he reached for a set of fine china and a teapot sitting next to a table piled with C4. Grant and Stonebridge greedily reached for a cup, eyes darting around suspiciously as though the other Brits would steal it. Sinclair, Baxter and Richmond followed suit and took tiny, delicate sips. Scott and Martinez held their ground.

"If it's not instant tea, I'm not drinking it! Haven't you people heard of Lipton? And why don't you just drink out of normal plastic cups with a cheesy logo on it like everyone else?" Scott said with a huff of defiance. Locke clutched his heart in pure shock at the words. The Americans ignored him, chalking it up to Shakespearean ancestry.

"I don't even like tea. It's just watered down crap that people force themselves to like. Kinda like Doctor Who," Martinez added flippantly. The entire British community gasped at their insensitivity concerning everything Queen and Country. Stonebridge wiped away a few manly tears.

"Kim, I expected this from dumbass Damien, but you..." His voice cracked and he looked away.

"What the hell, Michael? If I hurt your sexy feelings, I'm sorry. But not sorry. I still hate friggin tea. And crumpets are disgusting, not matter how hard you try to recreate your grandmother's secret recipe."

"And isn't it easier just to pour some tea powder into a glass of water and stir it?" Scott continued, unaware of Locke and Grant's twitching trigger fingers.

"But don't worry, my stunningly gorgeous hot damn hottie model, Michael! After all this is over, I'll force you to live with me in America and I'll show you the RIGHT way to drink! And it won't be any of that godforsaken tea bullshit you keep yakking on about. Isn't that right, my British biscuit?" Martinez said brightly. Stonebridge took a deep breath and backed against the C4 table for support. Martinez took a step toward him and reached for his profusely sweating face. "Michael?" He tore himself away from her touch and went sprinting into the hallway. A million things ran through his mind as he blindly locked himself in a spare room and leaned against the door. Live with Martinez in America? Leave his British culture and the home of his powdered wig ancestors? Scott, in the meantime, was busy facing his own demons.

"STOP! I BEG YOU, PLLLEEASSSEEE!" Locke held him fast while Grant forced another tea variety down his throat.

"And that was Oprah's chai tea!" he laughed mercilessly as Bravo Two sputtered under his grip.

"IT BURNS! Aww it's so nasty!"

"Let's try the queen's favorite-Rosemary thyme with a hint of lemon!"

"SON OF A-"

Their first fight and it had been AWFUL! Not only had he been poisoned by a lunatic but he'd suffered a demotion thanks to Locke and now Kim was saying she didn't like TEA? Was it not enough that he was a hunky Section 20 studmuffin slash Knight? Now his fiancée wanted him to be an American, too? That wasn't fair! Just because he drank hot tea even in the dead of summer didn't mean he wasn't manly. He had the body of a Spartan and could grill steaks! Michael hung his head in disbelief. He didn't think things could get any worse...until they did. The electricity shut off with a dull hum, leaving Bravo Eight in near total darkness.

"Hey, guys? What's going on?" he called, forgetting that he taken refuge in one of their soundproof, reinforced metal rooms. He tried the door, but it wouldn't open. Someone had either locked him in, damaged the opening mechanism or jammed something against the door...none of which sounded good for him or his team. He pounded fruitlessly on the door, thinking of Kim and a means of escape. Manny had been adamant that British intelligence PURSUE him - so who was sabotaging Section 20?

"Sergeant Stonebridge, I presume?" a sharp, feminine voice declared as she kicked the door open and trained a rifle on Stonebridge's massive pecs. He glanced at his chest.

"Dammit, who stole my muscle shirt? AGAIN?"

"I read your file. Everything. You're a sexy British cupcake with more guns than an armory and more profile shots than presidents on American currency," the dark haired woman said with a flick of her long ponytail. "I also saw how they treated you. A demotion...an utter lack of respect for their best and brightest lover of tea...and no support from the Americans. Tsk tsk. What a relief, then, that Section 20 will soon be lead by me, Major Rachel Dalton. You, of course, are guaranteed a spot as my right hand man, replacing that fool Sinclair and bringing you back up to Bravo One where you belong."

"You can do that? Un-depromote me?" Stonebridge ventured, gritting his teeth as the AC kicked on and chilled his shirtless contoured torso. Dalton smirked.

"All that and more. I even have more intel on the Manny and your supposed cure. That is, if you help me dethrone Locke and Grant from their...respective commands."

"BULLOCKS BUTTERED CHERRY PIE! No way in hellfire swamp am I gonna be a double agent again like last time! I've had enough of femme fatales yanking my chain! Go bribe Scott with your tricks, because this Brit is remaining a stick in the mud prodigal Boy Scout for the rest of his life to keep Kim Martinez safe! EVEN IF WE DO HAVE TO LIVE IN AMERICA!" He paused, surprising himself with his words. Did he really love her so much he'd sacrifice his home for her? He smiled and arched his back in relief. "Whew! Helluva character arc! Guess I'd better tell Kim the good news! Her husky biscuit is prepared to double jump my way to the States!" Dalton laughed cruelly and backed her way through the doorway.

"Well then, I'd better pay your American puppy a proper visit. What's his name? Damien Scott? Maybe he'd be more inclined to side with me if I give him this!" She dangled the Queen's diamond necklace in front of the agent. Stonebridge narrowed his eyes.

"YOU'RE CRAZY!" She winked.

"Just wait till I take control. Then you'll see how crazy I can be!" She locked the steel door in Stonebridge's splendid, perfect face and he pounded the metal in vain.

"DAMIEN! ANYONE! STOP DALTON! SHE'S GONNA HIJACK SECTION 20!"

Scott stumbled blindly into sharp metal chairs and tables, unable to see much of anything without the lights. He felt a hand on his shoulder.

"JULIA!" he cried happily, but immediately shoved the arm violently away when he realized it was just Baxter. "C'mon, Jules, answer me! You were right beside me!" Scott felt panic rising in his chest until a definite feminine not-Baxter hand grabbed his wrist and led him into an adjacent conveniently soundproof room. A quick painful burst of a bright flashlight and the telltale sign of the door locking told Scott that this woman was most definitely not the love of his life. She held the flashlight up to her face like she was about to tell a ghost story. The effect would've been comedic if it wasn't creepy as hell. "F me, who are you? And did you turn these lights off?" Scott's game of twenty questions was interrupted when the stranger dangled a familiar diamond necklace hypnotically in front of his face. "Queenie's diamonds! The second love of my life! Wait, how—" The brunette put a finger to his lips.

"My name is Rachel Dalton. Section 20 is trying to brand me as a traitor, but I'm REALLY undercover for the CIA...even though I'm so immensely British. I saw how Locke and Sinclair forced you to drink Oprah's chai tea - it's the worst tea ever and certainly not an appropriate way to thank you for saving those dancers' lives. Meet me tonight at 9pm - give me some general, basic, no strings attached, of no real importance intel and I'll give you this priceless necklace." Before Scott could make a coherent response, the lights came back on and the woman was gone.

"Scott! Get your ass over here!" Grant said sternly from the hallway with a crying Baxter in tow. Scott bolted outside, Julia's name dying on his lips as he saw the cause of the chaos: Scott's prior torture table, loaded with delicate china, was upturned, teas strewn across the room, chipped cups and teapots galore. Locke glowered at Scott as he tried to get the tea stains out of his pristine GQ combat gear with a Tide marker. It wasn't working. "Would you like to explain yourself, Scott? I don't know why the lights went out, but it appears SOMEONE sabotaged our precious tea! Look at this mess!" Grant continued as Sinclair tried to quarter off the damage with yellow police tape. Scott gaped at the team.

"I didn't do it! I swear! I was...I was..."

"He's a bully and shoved me in the dark!" Baxter added with a whine, his black eye prominent in the light.

"Probably whilst making his getaway," Sinclair said, keeping his eyes low.

"I was trying to find Julia!" Scott growled and, as if on cue, the dark haired beauty entered the room with an ice pack for Baxter. The distressed Honorable Mention Sir Hottie Knight threw himself at Richmond's feet. "You believe me, right, Julia? I wouldn't sabotage tea like that!" Julia turned away and didn't answer, instead leading spineless Baxter to the infirmary.

"You defaced Oprah's chai tea, of all things! Don't you know what happens when you disgrace Oprah's favorite things?" Grant continued to rage.

"Hey! I'm not the only wanker on the tea hater train! Where the friggin' hell is Martinez? What if she knocked over your Downtown Abbey fan club table?"

"Because," Locke said gruffly, wiping tea off of his shades, "she left to find Stonebridge before the lights went out. Which makes you the only one here who has a beef against the best goddamn thing since sliced bread and swivel chairs!"

Scott, although hurt by Richmond's lack of support, rolled his eyes in exasperation at the Brits. If they were gonna Americanize this cast, he supposed he'd have to be the one to do it.

"Look, we have more important issues than your stupid tea obsession! SOMEONE tampered with the lights and SOMEONE wants something from Section 20." Scott decided not to mention his run in with the mystery woman - not yet, anyway. Section 20 was a shady organization and he didn't know if she was telling the truth about her loyalties...and hells bells and shamrock shells, if that necklace turned out to be cubic zirconium, he was gonna be breaking more than just teacups. Not that the current situation was his fault. If Baxter hadn't been such a fragile Cheeto, then he wouldn't have the wrath of Khan thrust on him now. Grant regarded Scott for a moment and nodded slowly.

"The lights, at least, were an inside job. Until we know who was responsible and what they want, we can't trust anyone but the main cast. I would, however, encourage a separate investigation be conducted-"

"No, the Mannequin should be our priority! If there's one thing I'm good at, it's vengeance!" Locke said viciously, giving Scott the stink eye.

"Hey, calm down! We'll split up the work. Me and Stonebridge and anyone else of convenience will take up the meat and potatoes of the story and I'll just call up Christy Bryant from the CIA-" A loud chorus of "NOOOOO!" and "ANYONE BUT HER!" erupted from the superior agents. Scott looked around, dumbfounded. "Why? She was my handler back in the States." To everyone's surprise, Sinclair stepped up with a whole lotta attitude.

"Agent Bryant uses people and gives a bad name to the CIA. Her safehouse in Mogadishu? Not so safe. And your heart wrenching scene with Richmond in the final episode was totally cheapened by her appearance - after which she betrayed you." Locke gave up trying to clean his shirt stains.

"I know someone we can call at the CIA. He's worked undercover before and would be a good asset. Other than having the most deepest, richest, badass voice ever, he's the most loyal, trustworthy and honest man in the entire goddamn world. His name's Kamali. Leo Kamali."

The cast disbanded for a short commercial break and a change of clothes. Scott tried to swipe Stonebridge's freshly pressed muscle shirt but the producers caught him in the act and stuffed him into an elbow length button up jacket. For convenience, a thirty second promo aired featuring Martinez rescuing her man hunk Stonebridge from his soundproof room, Grant contacting Kamali via FaceTime on government property, Sinclair besting Locke in a game of cards (Locke swore vengeance at Sinclair's swift victory), and Baxter returning to his role of the likeable but slightly invisible side character. The main cast gathered in the briefing room where the FaceTime with Kamali was broadcasted on one wall. Scott attempted to wave at Richmond from across the room but she averted her eyes and turned to her bestie Martinez instead. Scott was crushed. Stonebridge sauntered over, muscle shirt and all, with a huge grin on his face.

"Me and Kim got over our little spat. Guess what, Damien? I told her that I'll live with her in America! Can you believe it? A REAL knight, living among the commoners?" Stonebridge hopped from one foot to another happily. Scott rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, dude. SHOCKER."

"All right, what's wrong? Is it the muscle shirt? You just can't fill it out enough, Damien, no matter how much weight you bench."

"It's not that you jackass," Scott snarled as he pushed his sleeves up as high as they would go. "It's Jules. She thinks I threw a hissy fit and knocked over all their non-Lipton tea! And now she won't even look at me! How am I gonna propos..."

"KAMALI! Can you still hear me? KAMALI!" Grant shouted at the screen as Kamali's face became frozen in mid-sentence. "Someone end the FaceTime sesh and call him back!" In seconds Sinclair had Kamali back on the line. Stonebridge glanced at his heartbroken partner.

"Sorry, mate. Didn't catch that. Whatever. It probably wasn't important like half the crap you say anyway." Scott pouted then checked his watch. 9:00pm. Decision time.

It was finally decided that Kamali needed to physically come to the base in order to scout out the mole, and since Bring Your Daughter to Work Day was fast approaching, his super cool teen Esther would be joining him.

"See you soon, Leo. We'll send Bravos Two and Ten to pick you up from the airport." Locke ended the FaceTime session with finesse, leaving by-the-book muscle shirt Stonebridge gaping in confusion.

"Who's Bravo Ten?" Locke gave him a diabolical smirk.

"Why, that's YOU, Michael. Kamali and his daughter are Bravos Eight and Nine, and since our CIA buddy outranks you, then you needed to be reassigned." Scott laughed his stupid laugh and blew a kiss at Julia but she tossed it angrily back.

"W-What? NO! I don't WANNA be Bravo Ten! Why can't I be Bravo Zero, then? Not only is zero a concept, it IS a number!" Martinez looked lovingly at her incredibly intelligent fiancé while Locke, Grant and Sinclair joined Scott's grating laughter. Baxter started to chuckle, too, but cried when his face bruises hurt from the motion.

"Just for that, I'm designating you Bravo Thirteen!" Grant said, wiping tears from her eyes. "That way, you can suck up all the bad luck around here-"

"NOOOOOOOO!" superstitious Stonebridge bellowed. He dropped to his knees. "I'm already poisoned, what more do you want?" No one noticed Scott's laughter disappearing as the American quietly slipped away from the room. If Jules wouldn't pay attention to him, he had nothing left in this world...except maybe an as of yet undisclosed son named Finn. But really, he had nothing, so he might as well meet shady lady with the sparkly diamonds.

"I knew you'd see things my way, Damien," Dalton purred, hefting the AK-47 in her arms. "Nothing like the sparkle of a girl's best friend to turn a man against his girl's best friends."

"Show me the necklace! I swear, if you're lying to me and pawned it from Jared's..."

"Trust me, it's the real deal," she continued, circling him with the diamond necklace curled in one of her hands. "So, now it's your turn to hold up your end of the bargain. What are Locke and Grant planning?" She shifted the muzzle of her gun until it rested on Scott's super toned chest. He gave a girly scream, which he would later deny.

"Whoa! WHOA! At least give me a second to breathe, woman!"

"We don't have a second, Sergeant! Give me the Intel you man muffin! You have three seconds." She squeezed the trigger lightly for emphasis. "One...two..." Scott swore and held his hands aloft in surrender.

"Fine then! You wanna know what they're planning? What Section 20 has in the works?" Dalton leaned in closer, pushing the gun against his vest in anticipation. "They're...they're planning to..." It would be so easy! He just had to tell her about Kamali and Esther's arrival, a vague reference to Take Your Daughter To Work Day, and Mikey's de-de-de-motion to an unheard of Bravo Thirteen clearance. That was it! No strings attached! And a lifelong paycheck of diamonds that he would use for fun and stupidity and not for his as of yet undisclosed bratty spoiled teenage son. "They're planning a surprise birthday party for Michael!" he blurted out, internally screaming at himself for protecting shady as hell Section 20 from shady as hell Rachel Dalton. She pursed her lips, un-amused.

"Are you sure?"

"Roger that. Poor bastard wants a proper birthday bash before we die from friggin' poison. And unfortunately he likes Oprah's shitty tea, so..."

"You're lying," Dalton snapped and went to fire...

Kim brought Stonebridge a steaming mug as he knelt on the floor in despair. He didn't want to play chauffeur/host to this Kamali guy and now he had a headache and was that a side effect of the poison or just from the events over the last few hours, and where in the name of four Strike Back seasons was Scott –

"Here," Martinez coaxed, settling the mug in his trembling hands (trembling? The poison?!). He took a swig of whatever drink she had given him and holy freedom crumpets it was DELICIOUS!

"Kim, what IS this? It's great! Almost better than - better than tea!" Michael sputtered, thinking about how crestfallen he had been when he first saw the shattered fine china and tea remains on the floor. His fiancée shrugged.

"It's just coffee. I just added a little sugar and creamer..." He gasped in surprise.

"THIS is coffee? I-I-I mean, I almost tried it once but then Scott and I were being shot at and I spilled it on my pants...hey, do you know where Scott went? If he makes me pick up Kamali and Esther at the airport BY MYSELF..." Martinez shrugged again and Richmond, looking offended Michael would even DRINK a cup of coffee, scoffed.

"He's probably with some GIRL because he got his feelings hurt-" Stonebridge leapt to his feet, self-pitying thoughts forgotten.

"You're right! I think Scott is with a girl!" Richmond gave him a steely glance and Martinez put her hands up in mock surrender. "WOW British Biscuit, didn't need to rub it in, poor Julia-" Michael's face grew red.

"No, I mean, this snobbish brunette British lady tried to force me to give up intel when the lighting went all haywire. She said she was gonna bribe Scott with the Queen's diamonds! You don't think..." Richmond nodded slowly, understanding dawning on her face. Sinclair crossed his arms in thought.

"Do you think this mystery woman is the mole? No offense, Michael, but her description fits a good number of NPCs in Section 20." Now it was Locke's turn to scoff.

"Not in my division. I work with four, five people, tops. That way we don't have any trust issues and I get more screen time!" Richmond paced in agitation.

"He's probably meeting with the hoe bag now. But where?" Locke, Grant, Sinclair and Baxter raced to the room's single laptop, each vying to be the one to find Scott's whereabouts first. Grant karate chopped Baxter on the back of the neck and he once again crumpled to the floor like a frail Cheeto. Locke ninjaed his way past the competition and typed random letters on the keyboard without the aid of a database or a search engine or anything.

"Looks like he stole a company vehicle. He's there!" Locke cried, pointing at a GPS dot on Google maps.


	3. Chapter 3

Much to their surprise, Scott burst into the room and they turned to him in confusion.

"If you're here, then who's driving the car?" Sinclair asked. Scott pointed to the moving GPS dot on the computer screen that did a few stylish donuts before swerving back onto the freeway.

"That's Rachel Freakin' Dalton! We gotta go after her!" Newly elected Bravo Thirteen slammed Scott against the wall, spilling the rest of his coffee on his neatly pressed pants.

"Dammit, Damien! You told her classified, encrypted, passcoded, on-a-need-to-know-basis Intel, didn't you? Just to get your greasy little thief hands on a few sparkly rocks!" Scott pushed him away.

"Take a closer look, BUDDY! I didn't take the diamond necklace!" Stonebridge paused, briefly catching Martinez's eye. She winked encouragingly at her piping hot fiancé and he swallowed down a mouthful of pride.

"Sorry to blame you, mate, but you were a major pain in the ass during the whole Marksman charade because you kept bitching about that God Save the Queen diamond necklace. Easy mistake." Scott shrugged, avoiding Richmond's concerned gaze.

"Look, there's only one piece of jewelry that means the world to me. In fact, it means more to me than a mansion stuffed with Queenie's irreplaceable diamonds!" Scott's flawless, sun kissed six pack self held Richmond's hands and gave her a lopsided smile. He reached into his shirt pocket, his hand trembling nervously—

"Better get that looked at, mate. My hands have been shaking, too! Probably from the poison-"

"Shut up, Mikey!" Scott snapped as he attempted to find the tiny ring. He checked all his pockets, panic filling his chest. "Holy nutcracker! Dalton took it! That BBEEEOOOCCHHHH!"

"Instead of wasting our time talking about feminine jewelry, why don't you tell us how you got away from Dalton," Grant intervened.

"And you can tell us all about how you let her get away, you useless blob! That was a Baxter move and you know it!" Locke said disapprovingly. Baxter sobbed.

"I didn't tell her a darn thing about our shady Section 20! She already knew about Sections 1 through 19! When I didn't side with her, she took off!"

"She wants us to follow her. She knows she's being tracked," Richmond supplied. She patted Scott's arm. "We'll find her and get back whatever she took from you. Together." They shared a cute, Hallmark, romantic-comedy chick flick moment before Stonebridge and his large nose ruined it.

"I'd be pissed, too, if that floosy stole MY wallet! Cheers, mate." They bro-fisted and Scott rubbed the back of his neck.

"Uh, yeah...my wallet."

Michael stood at attention, back ramrod straight, for the next hour while Locke, Grant and Sinclair tracked Dalton's movements and formulated a plan. Stonebridge wanted to talk to his best friend Scott, but the American was still fuming about his stolen wallet and it was starting to get old. His sexy fiancé and Richmond had gone down to the shooting range, so his only other option for conversation was...Baxter. Hell no, he'd rather remain stupidly bored than strike up a conversation with that loser. Finally, after an age, Locke finished mashing random buttons on the laptop and stood up proudly.

"We're back in it, team! Not only is Dalton the mole, but we believe she's leading us straight to the Mannequin."

"I DONT CARE ABOUT MANNY! Get me to Dalton so I can get my ri-...uh, manly wallet back!" Scott screeched in his annoying grating voice and crumpled in a pathetic heap into an uncomfortable stainless steel chair. Unlike Michael, who had the voice of an angel and always kept his posture.

"I figured you would be a little more excited to find out we're one step closer to the cure! Since you two nimrods are POISONED-" Locke replied icily, pissed that his epic research was being undermined. Scott shrugged.

"And I feel totally fine. And so does Mikey. So NEWSFLASH I can do whatever I want and go after whoever I want-"

"Not with this plan, Scott," Grant chimed in. "We need you both out in the field. We've found Manny's base of operations and now we need to infiltrate, figure out what he's planning and stop him for good. Dalton seems to be aligned with him somehow so we'll take her down too. Happy, soldier?" Scott grinned and propped himself up on the chair.

"Now THAT'S more like it!" Ever the prude, Stonebridge brought them back to basics.

"What's the plan, Major?" Sinclair shoved the other two away so he could have his moment in the sun. Locke and Grant tumbled into Baxter, who fell to the floor, crying.

"In exactly four hours, a popular renaissance faire will be hosting Pompeii weekend and their main attraction? A huge paper mâché volcano that is set to "explode" at noon. Martinez and Richmond will be our eyes in the skies and you two will be our hounds on the ground. Scott! We're putting you in charge of security. You'll have unlimited access to the fair and your movements won't seem suspicious." The American absolutely beamed. "As for Bravo Thirteen-" Stonebridge's jaw twitched but otherwise he retained perfectly oh so perfect posture - "you'll be dressed up as a Pompeii resident, interacting with the crowds. Specifically, the dunk tank." His posture crumpled.

"I-Wwhat? Why can't I be head of security too?"

"Well, we can't have two heads of securities, that would be ridiculous!" Locke smirked.

Four hours later, Scott found himself strutting around the outdoor vendors, folk music aplenty at the ren faire. He took a bite out of a turkey leg and pressed his comm.

"Zero, this is badass Bravo Two. Still nothing suspicious. I'm gonna swing by Bravo Thirteen and see if he's picked up any intel."

"Copy that, Bravo Two," Grant replied. He pushed a few of the villagers out of the way until the soaking figure of Stonebridge came into view. He tapped on the glass and his partner bristled in his velvet robes and stockings. "Hey, MIKEY. They do any weird experiments on ya?" He smirked as Stonebridge pounded against the dunk tank glass.

"F you! And it's not Mikey! It's Leontes-" Stonebridge gasped as Scott reached into his pocket and pulled out some cash in exchange for three beanbags. He hefted one in his hand.

"One up, Mikey!" Scott hurled the beanbag at the small target and missed by just a fraction of an inch. The crowd booed.

"I've already been dunked ten times today! Isn't that enough?" Stonebridge spat. "And this water tastes funny!"

"Suck it up and take it like a man, Mikey!"

"LEONTES!"

Scott threw the second beanbag and it ricocheted harmlessly off the glass. He raised the third bag with a flourish.

"Sorry, buddy! But this will be the highlight of my day-besides propos-" Stonebridge slammed his palm against the glass as he caught a flash of red, and ignored Scott's prattling. A sniper!

"ON YOUR SIX! ON YOUR SIX!" he shouted. Scott dropped the beanbag and ducked just as a bullet tore through the air, in the space where the agent had been previously standing, and shattered the dunk tank. Stonebridge tumbled out the torturous glass box, coughing up lungfuls of water in the process.

"Holy shit, it's the sniper from the dance class! Get off your ass! We've got a score to settle with that bastard!" the bitchin' awesome American said and hauled the velvety knight to his feet. "You feelin' okay?"

"You said it. I feel better already," the Brit replied, shivering from the icy cold water.

"Really?"

"No!"

Stonebridge and Scott sprinted away from the tank amidst cheers from the crowd, who thought the real-as-hell sniper bullet was an act. Michael was soon dogged by fellow Pompeii resident actors, all of whom wanted an explanation as to why Leontes had left his post. Of course, they all stayed in character, which was super annoying when their sniper was getting away!

"Hast thou-est reason why thou-est abandon thou-est post?"

"Pray tell us, humble traveler, wherefore the change in script?"

"Tis best thou-est returneth to the dunk tank, due to insurance-est issues and safety from thy monster Mt Vesuvius!"

Ironically, it was Pliny the Elder who bulldozed the Brit to the ground with a football tackle, rubbing his face in the dirt. Michael looked up helplessly and motioned for Scott to continue on while the villagers approached his position. He struggled against the surprisingly strong Elder until a creepily familiar voice made his blood run cold.

"Hello, Stonebridge. It looks like you're not having fun...but you will, once my paper mâché creation blows this place sky high!" Before Stonebridge could utter a remarkably witty comeback to rock the ages, Pliny AKA Manny pressed a knife to his throat, wowing the onlookers who stupidly thought this very sharp and very real dagger was fake. And so it was that fake Pliny led Michael through crowds of fake Pompeiians, over fake sets and in front of fake Mt Vesuvius before trapping him in a very real and very painful set of stocks. Unable to reach his comm, the Brit screamed and tried to warn the crowds of the impending danger, but his words went unheeded by the masses and bratty, spoiled kids started throwing rotten vegetables at his face. Manny resumed his old man facade and slipped away into Mt Vesuvius through a secret now not-so-secret door.

Scott sprinted through the Royal Court, training his side arm on the elusive sniper in front of him.

"I can do this all day, bud!" Scott's stomach rolled painfully from the damned turkey leg he gorged earlier.

"I can almost do this all day!" The side stitch said otherwise.

"I can try to do this all day!" No way in hell. Buckets of sweat cascaded down his ruggedly angelic face.

"Just get on the ground you asshole!" Scott demanded. He followed the masked figure into the stable next to the jousting pit and saw the lithe form mount one of the steeds. Scott dodged one of the sniper's bullets and hauled himself on a tan mare, which balked at his unwanted presence. The horses sprinted onto the jousting pit, receiving a "SSSHHHIIITTTTTT" from the American rider. The sniper threw their mask onto the ground and gasped for sweet Jesus air-

"DALTON? YOU'RE THE SNIPER?"

The wicked temptress tossed her ponytail over her shoulder with a smirk. She dangled a ring lazily in one hand.

"Surprised, Scott? You really shouldn't be. I was crazy even before I met The Mannequin."

"MANNY!"

"Whatever. And I wonder...how far will a womanizing piece of trash like you go to get the love of your life's ring back? We're the SAME, Scott, both abandoned by our governments. Disrespected by everyone at Section 20. Hell, even Oprah hates you."

"Does not!"

"Oh, but she does," Dalton purred and led her mount to the opposite end of the pitch. She lifted her gun and propped the butt against her shoulder. "One last chance. Join The Mannequin and I and rid yourself of Section 20 and that floosy of an agent, Richmond, FOREVER!" Something snapped inside the sexy devil and he kicked his mare into motion and raised his Glock. No one called the love of his life, would die a thousand times for her, most badass sexy female agent a floosy! Dalton followed suit and came galloping toward Bravo Two along the jousting divider. Jousting with guns, Scott thought. "F me!"

"Outta the way!" Stonebrige, disoriented and sore from the vegetable missiles and bent posture (he was gonna curse Manny with Pompeii voodoo magic if the stocks made his ramrod attention stance any less impressive), heard a familiar British growl and watched as Locke backflipped impressively over the bratty kids and landed at his side. He was overjoyed to see the Lieutenant Colonel...until he noticed the older Brit was dressed identical to Scott, as head of security.

"W-what? I thought you said there couldn't be two heads of security! That it would be ridiculous!" Locke dismissed the crowd with a wave of his hand and a rather pointed look at his taser before freeing the British Biscuit from the stocks. Michael rubbed his wrists and winced as pain shot up his back when he pulled off a salute. Damn Manny!

"What would have been ridiculous is running around looking like YOU all day. As an old man, I'd probably have been forced to play Pliny the Elder or some bullshit. And that character was already taken-"

"Yeah, by MANNY!" Stonebridge cried and commed the new information to Grant and the girls, who informed him that Scott was currently jousting on the opposite side of the field. Stonebridge rolled his eyes. Scott probably got tired, found a tankard of ale and set about having fun while the rest of them were expected to miraculously stop the bomb or whatever else Manny was hiding. Scott was too focused on getting his dumb wallet back than foiling Manny's plan - Michael had told Scott a thousand times that it wasn't a big deal and he could get new credit cards, but the asshole had punched him in his big British nose and that was that. Locke began to pull away, heading toward the paper mâché mess when Michael hauled him back. "Oh, no you don't. First, you're gonna answer some questions. That Mannequin loser spoiled my dinner date plans and shot and poisoned me! All because he has a beef with you! What the hell, Locke?!" The older man sighed and for once his voice lost its sharp edge.

"You're not poisoned, Michael. Neither is Scott. You never were. I made it up so you would help me take this guy out." Stonebridge gaped unBritishly as he worked through the implications.

"You tricked us. But why? I would've tracked down Manny anyways for blowing up MY salsa class and creeping us all out in that doll room!" Locke shook his head sadly.

"No, you wouldn't. Because Manny's profile would've indicated he's a member of the IRA and bureaucrats higher than Section 20 would've shut down the investigation-"

"WHAT?" Stonebridge sputtered, spitting tomato juice. "That dirtbag works for the British government?"

"Not officially," Locke replied, his eyes steely. "When I started asking too many questions in my youth, the big wigs determined I was too volatile to keep around and ordered a hit on me. Manny was the operative in charge of the mission and he decided a nice big car bomb was the way for me to meet my maker. Fortunately, Kamali tipped me off and I was able to prop a car crash dummy dressed in my rockin' awesome clothes in the driver's seat while me and my family got to safety. Manny's been trying to fix his mistake and take me out ever since." Locke's accent regained its usual spunk. "In another life, my kid might've died from the blast and my wife might've become a quadriplegic with burns over 60% of her body...but for the sake of here and now, everyone's alive and kicking and it's time for some sweet Jesus vengeance!"

Both guns fired. Both riders pitched to the side and collapsed onto the dusty ground. Scott clutched his side with an exasperated groan.

"Holy banana nut chocolate chip strawberry ice cream! I got shot...AGAIN!" He tapped his comm. "Zero, crazy psycho cat lady Dalton is down. I friggin' took a bullet to the chest to take her out. You're WELCOME. And where the hell is my raise?"

"You were only hit with a blank, you moron. You'll live, Bravo Two," Grant shot back, clearly not impressed with his phenomenal medieval combat skills. "The moment we heard there was a mole in Section 20, I had the real ammo swapped with our training rounds, just in case. Looks like Rachel grabbed the sniper and decoy ammo from our armory before heading to Mt Vesuvius."

"What if she'd brought her own weapon with REAL bullets? We all know the bad guys have the coolest weapons in the show! Don't deny it! For instance, that RPG from Season 3 Episode 1 would've come in real handy!" Scott snarled. He grabbed the wooden jousting divider and hauled himself to his feet like a sexy Greek bombshell. He heard Martinez scream at him through the earpiece from her place in the circling copter.

"Suck it up, Scott! You need to rendezvous with my British Buttercream Cupcake! We dispatched Locke to his coordinates, but we've since lost track of them!" The sweet, controlled voice of Richmond filled his head with sunshine and song in confirmation.

"She's right, Damien. We'll take care of Dalton. Get our boys back!" She rattled off the latitude and longitude of Locke and Stonebridge's last known whereabouts but when Scott was too stupid to figure it out she switched to landmarks. "There's a door at the base of that crappily made, flimsy paper mâché mountain. Move it!"

"Give me a moment, for pity's sake!" Scott said and darted over to Dalton's unconscious form. His shot had missed her completely, but by the Section 20 gods the recoil from the gun had thrown her from the horse during the joust and she'd knocked herself out upon hitting the ground. He fished the ring out of her pocket and clutched it tightly to his chest. "Don't worry, Jules. When this is all over-"

"Yes?" Richmond inquired curiously.

"Uh...nothing! On my way!" He slammed the comm off and sprinted toward the paper volcano, his jousting horse forgotten.

The rotten tomato juice had finally killed Stonebridge's comms and Locke just refused to answer Grant's summons. The older Brit threw his earpiece to the ground, crushing it under his worn boots that probably would've gone really well with a Pliny the Elder outfit. Stonebridge hadn't brought his cell phone and Locke proceeded to dump his iPhone in a vat of hot cooking oil as they passed a vendor's tent.

"Looks like it's just us, Bravo Thirteen," Locke growled as burning hot Michael looked at him incredulously.

"Uh, no it's not! Our supporting cast is above us right now in a helicopter! We could steal someone's phone, or track down Scott, or...or..." Locke punched Stonebridge rather hard in the shoulder.

"It's just us, Michael! Never take your superior's word at face value. Never obey. Never blindly obey! Vengeance is nigh and Manny is mine!" Locke skipped rather happily towards the fake volcano, causing Stonebridge to jog to keep up with him. Damn, but he was a spry old man! The duo turned a corner and ran flush into Scott, who looked like a wreck. Stonebridge couldn't help but smirk. That's what he got for drinking on the job and partying down while the Sir Sergeant had rotten vegetables thrown on him!

"Oh, decided to help out after all? Got tired of dunking people and playing jousting matches, eh?" Michael said acidly and Scott had to pathetically catch his breath before his weak comeback.

"Hey, I stopped Dalton!" A likely story.

"Oh, awesome. And I'm assuming you got your wallet back? Cuz that's SOOOOOO much more important than - oh, I don't know - a bloody bomb going off!" Scott shoved Stonebridge into a fake fairy circle, causing the actors to titter in fear.

"Let's take into account how helpful - or should I say HELPLESS - you've been! Pliny the 100-year-old grandpa took you out -"

"IT WAS MANNY! AND HE HAD A VERY REAL AND VERY SHARP KNIFE!"

"And then that dunk tank nonsense -"

"I was ASSIGNED that role, you moron!"

"Yeah, whatever. Your water boy Robinson Crusoe act didn't aid in the investigation AT ALL!"

"Oh, you mean your pretend wannabe FBI Kurt Weller getup was any better?" Locke double slapped both agents and snapped his fingers to get their attention.

"Gentlemen, we're here! Get it together or get out of my sight!" They were beside the gross paper mâché structure, Locke using his wizard magic LOCKEpicking skills to open the surprisingly hefty secret not so secret door. Stonebridge conveniently changed into some macho clothes and as the door creaked open, the men made their way inside.

"Welcome to my summer palace," a familiar figure hissed from above, slinking along one of the many catwalks crisscrossing the structure. He'd swapped out his leggings, clogs and Pliny old man robes for a Resident Evil Wesker leather ensemble. Scott wiped a thick sheen of sweat from his face.

"No shit, Manny! It's like a friggin' furnace in here!"

"One could say...a volcano," Manny quipped. Scott tossed his partner a spare handgun and Stonebridge aimed it at Manny's spidery form.

"Nuh-uh. We are sick and tired of your stupid puns! What's it gonna take to finish you off, huh? Three RPGs to the face?" Manny grinned and lowered his hood, directing his attention at the silver-haired man of the hour.

"It ends here, Locke. That failed attempt on your life was the only time I never completed a hit. And how stupid I was, duped by your...Mannequin..."

"You mean car crash dummy," Locke clarified.

"NO! Mannequin! And everyday since then, I've been dreaming of this very moment, plotting your exact demise! And what better way to burn you than to do it inside of an active volcano of my own making?"

"You're forgetting one thing, mate. We took out your sniper," Locke said with a wry smile.

"You mean I did!" Scott said, puffing out his chest proudly. Locke shoved him roughly out of the way so that he could be in the limelight once more.

"Which means it's three against one! Put down your weapon or we'll shoot!"

"Dalton was merely a tool to bring Section 20 to my doorstep. I don't need her! In fact…the only person I need for the final act is you, Philip Locke! So why don't I even the odds?" Manny whipped out a hidden pistol from the folds of his black leather cloak and squeezed the trigger. For one, blissful second, nothing happened. Then Scott felt a burning sensation in his abdomen and dropped to his knees.


	4. Chapter 4

"DAMIEN!" Stonebridge cried. He attempted to skid to the American's side like a boss, but Locke held him fast.

"We've gotta LOCKE ourselves in and complete this mission! We go after Manny and maybe possibly probably not save Scott after he bleeds out."

"WAIT. What?"

"Think of the mission, Michael! Leave. Him. Behind!"

Scott, meanwhile, pulled out the engagement ring with shaky hands. This was it. If there was ever a time for a sappy, tear-inducing, fangirl moment, then this was the one. He had to propose before...he squeezed his eyes shut against the pain and tapped his comm.

"Julia, I know this is out of the blue, and I know that the only kind of tea I like is liber-TEA," he coughed dramatically for added effect, "but I love you. More than all those skanky women I went out with and DEFINITELY more than that CIA what's-her-face. The point is, I'd be the happiest man alive if you'd marry me. So, Julia...will you be my wife and help me raise a secret agent super family with my as of yet undisclosed teenage son named Finn?" Silence. "JULIA?" He heard the faint buzz of white noise from the comm. The heat inside the paper mâché crapshoot had destroyed his only link to the outside world. The love of his life hadn't heard his heartfelt confession! He clutched his side and tried (unsuccessfully) to hold back a manly sob. "GODDAMMIT!"

"Sorry mate, didn't quite catch that!" Stonebridge shouted distractedly, trying to fight off Locke's death grip while keeping Manny in his line of sight. "But don't worry! Locke made up the poison rubbish so CHEERS, mate! We're not poisoned!" Scott looked up blearily from the floor.

"Oh, that makes me feel SO much better. If the amazing Locke has some new information about not bleeding out from a gunshot wound, I'd LOVE to hear it!" A staccato of gunfire interrupted Scott's whining.

"Hey! Don't ignore me!" Everyone rolled their eyes at Me-monster Mannequin's squawking, as they knew a bad guy monologue was overdue.

"No one ever took me seriously. Not as a child, not after I failed to take out Locke. But they'll all take me seriously after this volcano detonates-"

"Why don't you take THIS seriously, you overgrown child!" A voice shouted from above as a figure flipped acrobatically through the air and landed impressively next to Scott.

"JULIA!" The American cried happily as a second figure sent a flurry of AK 47 gunfire towards Manny and somersaulted next to her knight.

"KIM!" Michael exclaimed, with MORE happiness than Scott, as he embraced his fiancée.

"Jules! You just looked so badass right now!" Scott said and attempted to drag himself to his feet so that he could embrace her in an epic kiss to rock the ages. Richmond smiled warmly, placed a hand on his chest and pushed him gently back to the floor. "Stay still, Damien. We have a plan to break you and Michael out of here. We just need to buy some time. I hope you like horses."

"I don't."

"Well that's just too damn bad," Martinez interjected, knocking Locke aside so her bomb diggity boy scout could reach his fallen comrade.

"Scott! Hang in there, mate! Kim, take my shirt and use it as a tourniquet!"

"AWWW yiiissssss," the DEA agent murmured as she ogled Michael's shirtless bod. He snapped his fingers to get her attention.

"Tie it off! He's bleeding out!"

"Jeezus Mikey, at least sugarcoat it A LITTLE!" Scott fumed as Martinez wrapped up the gunshot wound. Richmond held his hand soothingly. Well, at least for a moment until...

"Where did all these bloody flies come from? Stop bleeding all over, mate! They're attracted to you!" Stonebridge huffed, almost regretting his decision to give up his muscle shirt.

"I tend to have that affect on people," Scott said cheekily and gave Richmond a private wink.

"ENOUGH! HELP'S NOT COMING, THIS VOLCANO WILL BLOW UP ANY SECOND, IT'S HOTTER THAN A SWIMSUIT COMPETITION IN HERE, AND I'M THE ONLY ONE WHO CAN STOP THE MANNEQUIN! IT'S MY FIGHT ALONE!" Locke roared, once again regaining the spotlight. He swiveled on Stonebridge and jabbed a finger in his chest. "The door's LOCKED. You and I both know that!"

"No we don't, boss! Have you even tried the door?"

"I told you to leave your pathetic partner behind and you disobeyed a direct order! That's it...you're not a Bravo! In fact...you're off the team! After we get out of this easy bake oven from hell-"

"VOLCANO!" Manny interrupted but no one paid him the time of day.

"-then your time with Section 20 is over!"

Stonebridge put on his super shades and tossed Locke his sidearm dramatically.

"Roger that. I can't see where you're coming from, but I know just what you're running from. If you want to go in this fight alone, be my guest. Enjoy your vengeance. But I'm gonna help my friend!"

Something rocked the paper mâché structure and a gurgling noise traveled up the pipes fitted into the ground by Richmond's feet. Manny raised his arms victoriously.

"The volcano explosion is starting! Once the liquid fire I stored beneath the pavement hits the air, it'll make a chemical reaction so profound that-" His words were cut blessedly short by the whinny of a horse as Grant smashed through the side of the flimsy volcano, reigns in hand. Despite the gaping paper mache hole, the volcano remained standing, but the movement caused Manny to flip over the side of the catwalk and drop his gun. The weapon sizzled as it hit a pool of acid rising from one of the pipes. Manny held onto the suspended rail with one hand, even as the volcano gave another shudder.

"Bravos Three and Four, get Bravo Two in the back of the wagon! Bravo One, take the reigns and get us the hell outta here!" Grant ordered with sass. The kickass female duo went straight to work and lifted a crying Scott into the back of the wagon. Michael slumped against one of the support beams as the acid licked the tips of his boots. He wasn't an operative anymore. Grant hadn't even bothered to give him a direct order! Kim shouted his name, but the stick in the mud refused to acknowledge her cries. Maybe it was destiny that he perish here, even though he always wanted to go out in a blaze of glory...not in a blaze! Not like this!

"You're gonna have to leave without me, Corporal! MANNY'S MINE!" Locke said. He started climbing the exposed beams in order to reach Manny's catwalk.

"Good, because I wasn't talking to you, Locke," Grant scowled. She turned her attention to the best and sexiest goddamn soldier in the biz. "Ready to join us, Bravo One, or are you gonna pout in the corner like a sissy? Grow a pair and get your sexy self over here!"

"YES MA'AM!" Stonebridge saluted and took his place next to her on the bench. He tugged on the reigns and maneuvered the horse and cart out of the sweltering volcano, dodging the acid pools like a pro. He urged the horses forward down one of the cobbled streets of the makeshift Pompeii village.

"You did it, buddy! F me!" Scott laughed from his place in the attached cart.

"Major! We can't contain this! If Manny's right, his fake acid lava mixture will combust in no time!" Michael yelled over the sound of whinnying horses. Scott complained as the cart jostled viciously over some stupidly huge decorative rocks. Grant rolled her eyes.

"The explosion is unavoidable. But Kamali and his daughter aided in completely evacuating the Fair while you two were holed up in that volcano-"

"What the fricky frack? We were only with Manny for like five minutes!" the rugged American screeched despite Richmond's attempts to calm him down.

"Kamali's one of the best the CIA has to offer. If Baxter hadn't abandoned him at the airport, he would've gotten here in time to stop this whole mess! Just be thankful his CIA mandatory sheep herding skills came in handy with the large crowds!" An excruciatingly loud BOOM resounded over the clearing, followed by a quick succession of smaller ones. Kim looked shakily behind them. "The lava's coming! Faster, my handsomely shirtless Knight!"

"HIYA!" Stonebridge yelled with a flick of the reigns. The horses obliged and thundered across the terrain. He risked a glance over his shoulder. The crappily made life sized paper mâché art project was now a ball of molten fire as it spewed acidic rain across the empty streets. His Britishness kicked in and he immediately lamented the fall of their silver-haired, oceanic blue-eyed tea-toting leader. He scrunched in on himself in defeat. "Does this mean that LOCKE is..." He couldn't allow himself to finish. Fortunately Scott had his back.

"Fired?"

"NOT funny, Damien!" Stonebridge snapped.

"No, he's right," Grant said as she scrolled through Pinterest on her smart phone. "Locke's too damn amazing to die, much like Richmond, Sinclair and myself. Baxter just kinda popped up one season and Dalton replaced me as the feminine hardass of the team."

"Ma'am, what does that have to do with anything?" the sexy Brit inquired. The redhead rolled her eyes.

"Nothing really, only that the main characters are off limits from dying in dramatic, tear-inducing ways. This includes death by explosions, plane crashes, car ride montages, assassinations-" Scott nearly jumped out of Richmond's arms as she tried to hold him steady against the rocking cart.

"Hey! Does this mean that my buddy John Porter is alive?"

"NO!" the others shouted, including Sinclair who radioed Grant through her comm. "He's dead! It's not like we faked his death then sent him on a shady, undercover mission to the Misty Mountains-"

"WAT?" the boys said in unison, exchanging glances. Martinez squeezed herself between shirtless Stonebridge and the Colonel on the small bench, earning an exasperated sigh from Grant.

"It's a good thing you're pretty, my piping little crumpet! Just wait till we get to America!"

"Heads up, Bravos. We've got company," Sinclair commed from his position in the copter. "We've got bikers, presumably angry drama kids who were using their Renaissance Faire acting gigs to practice for the school play. They are pissed! You're gonna have to abandon the horses and jump into the copter for immediate evac."

"Roger that, Major," Grant said as she pinned a shirtless Chris Pine picture to her Pinterest board. Stonebridge hesitantly pulled back on the reigns." But-if Locke is still alive, shouldn't we-"

"NO!" the others replied. Grant fixed Bravo One with a glare.

"Locke chose to go solo when he stayed behind in that shitty volcano! Now, let's rendezvous with Sinclair and get on that copter!"

"Yes ma'am," Stonebridge said dejectedly, feeling less of a knight than he had when he'd been under the influence of Marksman's nanobots. At least then there'd been a valid reason for him to leave (or attempt to leave) a teammate behind. One could argue that man-made volcano bomb acid and Locke's insatiable thirst for vengeance were good reasons too, but...he could've done more. After all, Michael reasoned, in another life he might've been as vengeance crazed as Locke if a disillusioned soldier with a personal vendetta had killed his about-to-break-up-wait-we're-back-together-really-should've-gotten-a-divorce-because-a-baby-won't-solve-our-marital-problems high school sweetheart. In fact, he probably would've spent an entire season making rookie mistakes that really should've been a catalyst for him being fired from Section 20, only to forgive said disillusioned soldier in the biggest vengeance letdown in the history of Strike Back. Stonebridge sighed and offered his one true love Kim a sexy wink. She stroked his perfect abs. Shouts of "LEONTES!" and "thou must-eth stop-eth and clean up the fair-eth-" broke the handsome stud from his reverie.

"SHUT UP-ETH!" Stonebridge screamed, urging the horses onward as they neared their helicopter hovering several feet off the ground. Scott was muttering gibberish at this point, something about rings and sunshine and an as of yet undisclosed son named Finn, so Richmond apologetically punched him in the face to shut him up.

"You're cutting our escape pretty close, Sir Sergeant. Next time I'M driving!" Grant grumbled as the jostling carriage caused her to 'like' a stupid pin that had no business on her wall.

"Just wait a goddamn fortnight cheese toastie! We're gonna make it!" Stonebridge growled as he positioned the carriage parallel to the copter, which was slowly gaining speed. The bikers were still approaching and the acid continued to burn everything in its path. The back hatch opened and Kamali appeared in the doorframe of the copter.

"Jump!" he commanded, and the girls followed suit until only the two hunky stud muffins were left. Stonebridge dropped the reigns quickly, praying the horses would remain on course, and lugged fat ass Scott over his shoulder. He groaned under the weight. "Hurry!" Kamali commanded as the copter pulled farther away. Stonebridge silently cursed Scott for eating a bajillion hamburgers in his lifetime and jumped like a hero, hoping he'd make it to safety...

Kamali dragged Scott into the copter by the scruff of his collar and cast him carelessly aside.

"Thanks a lot, you ass-" Scott paused as he saw a pouty teenage girl with her arms crossed sitting next to Sinclair in the pilot's seat. Esther! He tried to change his cuss word before he corrupted her delicate ears. "As...guardian." He realized too late that the kid was wearing headphones and he could've gotten away with it!

"PULL ME UP! PULL ME UP!" Stonebridge cried as he dangled from the back of the plane by one hand, arm muscles bulging in all the right places. Kamali hauled him into the cargo hold and closed the hatch with a push of a button.

"Sir Sergeant Michael Stonebridge, I presume?" Kamali said and shook hands with the beaming knight. Kamali's silky voice instantly gained the trust of everyone in the copter, save for Scott who was too busy clutching his side theatrically.

"Now would be a REALLY good time to get me to a friggin' doctor!"

"I have a contact close by who knows a doctor that specializes in gunshot wounds to the chest. He'd be able to help," Kamali said as he whipped out his phone.

"Doctor Who?" Stonebridge asked.

"Classified. All right, Major, take us four clicks south, make a U-turn, and land in that abandoned football field."

"SOCCER FIELD!" Scott and Martinez corrected. Grant back-handed them both.

"Don't question our most talented, trustworthy hypnotic voice of reason, Leo Goddamn Kamali!" The Americans were about to argue when Sinclair landed the plane and their wounded team member was rushed inside a conveniently located hospital.

"Whoever the hell used a muscle shirt to stem the bleeding did a real shitty job," the lead doctor scoffed as they cut away the fabric and wheeled blue-eyed beauty Scott into the surgery wing. Stonebridge shouted at the doctor's retreating back through the swinging double doors.

"HEY! I want a refund on that shirt! And I didn't wrap up the wound! My soon to be wife and shoulda-been-a-model Kim did it!"

"You were shirtless. I was distracted. What did you expect?" Martinez shrugged and passed him a freshly brewed cup of coffee. Hours later, they were allowed to see Scott. They agreed to send Richmond into the room first for a moment of alone time with the rugged agent who was sobbing into the bed sheets and running his hands through his hair.

"I lost it, Jules," he gasped as the tears flowed down his face. "It probably got lost in that damn volcano for all I know!" The dark haired agent patted his cheek.

"Damien."

"Like, those horses were pulling that cart so fast then we hit those stupid, decorative rocks-"

"Damien."

"And then we had to jump in that helicopter! You know what? I bet one of those theater brats have it! That's it! We are gonna go back to the scene of the crime and-!"

"Damien. Shut up," Richmond laughed then pulled him into a sudden kiss. She opened up one of her palms and held out the ring. "I saw that you were holding onto it, so I took it for safekeeping before you went into surgery. And yes, I will marry you!" Fireworks showered the night sky and cast the hospital room in a kaleidoscope of colors. Damien fitted the ring on his fiancée's finger-a perfect fit! "And I've been thinking about the wedding. It should be romantic," Richmond said. Damien nestled his head in the pillows.

"Uh huh."

"Casual."

"Sure thing."

"We'll have the engagement pictures taken at the laser tag course."

"No doubt."

"And we'll have a double wedding with Michael and Kim." Scott nearly toppled out of the bed and gripped his bandaged side with shaky hands.

"Wait! WAT?!" As if on cue, the rest of Section 20 entered the room and Stonebridge popped open a bottle of 1600 year old wine.

"Cheers, mate! Welcome back! While you were fighting for your life in a gross, unsterilized, secret surgery room, I was actually doing something useful. After a shot of coffee I did some hardcore research from the typewriters in the back. Dalton wasn't the bloody mole."

Scott looked up pathetically, his lower lip quivering in shock.

"Jules mentioned a...a...d-double...wedding? Double?" Kamali ghosted in from nowhere and slammed some important looking documents on Scott's lap. The American howled in pain as the typewritten mess landed squarely on his side wound; he struggled to reach the call light button in order to beg a hot nurse to give him some pain killers, but Kamali slapped his feeble hands away and turned to the group. No one paid much attention to Scott, not even Richmond, so entranced they were by the CIA agent's sexy deep man voice.

"Michael's right. The Mannequin was simply a hired gun planted to keep Section 20 running around in circles while the real criminal mastermind set his true plan in motion." Sinclair paced in confusion.

"But Dalton infiltrated Section 20! And tried to manipulate Scott!" Kamali waved a hand dismissively.

"She was a red herring. A mere tool so our culprit could hide behind his identity a little while longer...we now know who the mole is, but unfortunately we were too late." Kamali stopped talking and a scary silence engulfed the room. Scott squinted through tears of pain and noticed his comrades' somber expressions.

"What are you not telling me?" Silence. "Jules?" he begged. She sighed.

"Scott...it's the base. Our files, records, computers, equipment, guns, ammo, vehicles, free lunch passes...gone. All of it. Stolen or burnt to the ground." Scott stared in shock for the second time that night and sought out Grant for confirmation. She nodded.

"It's true. We're on our own. No weapons, no transportation, no funding, no backup."

"BUT WHY?!" Scott cried, for once ignoring the searing pain in his side. This time, it was Michael who spoke up, his accent clipped and full of shame.

"The one person who was never given a proper job title. The one person who made no significant impact to the plot nor befriended any main characters. The one person who, in another life, the audience never really cared about cuz he wasn't given a backstory...and when he died, many audience members were left thinking, 'Who?'"

"GET TO THE POINT, MIKEY!" Scott huffed as his side throbbed in pure agony.

"Baxter. It was Baxter."

And so it was that fragile Cheeto Baxter ousted Section 20, leaving Sir Sergeant Michael Stonebridge, Honorary Knight Damien Scott, Colonel Eleanor Grant, Major Oliver Sinclair, kickass agents Julia Richmond and Kim Martinez and father-daughter duo Leo and Esther Kamali left to fend for themselves.

"So we really do have nothing!" Scott glowered. "Only a few handguns between us and the clothes on our back!" He frowned at this last statement and glanced at his humiliating hospital nightie. "We DO have extra clothes…right?" The production team felt slightly guilty and threw him a bag of clothes, the shirt suspiciously missing from the pile.

Two days was plenty of time for Scott's Strike Back invincible bod to recover from said bullet wound and he was effectively cleared for duty. The Section 20 agents left via helicopter to their new HQ. Grant snuck another pin on her Strike Back pinterest board before addressing the ragtag group.

"As you know, Baxter's taken over all of our technology, weapons, resources and safe houses. He's probably already found the secret tea stash we kept by the C4 table!" A chorus of British angst filled the cockpit. "We've lost use of our comms and this flying tin can is the only source of transportation we have in the sky. From here on out, we are very much on our own."

"Not only that, Locke's body was never recovered at Mt Vesuvius," Sinclair said from his place at the helm. "But that's probably not relevant to anything so forget I mentioned it."

"But if back stabby stab Baxter knows all of our intel, where in Project Dawn are we gonna find somewhere to hunker down and figure out our next move?" Martinez said, being careful to hide the spare muscle shirt deep in her bag out of her knight's dazzling eyes. If she played her cards right, maybe she'd get her wish and he'd remain shirtless the rest of his beautiful, bare-chested life.

"We're going back to where it all began," Kamali said cryptically.

"Lahore, Pakistan?" Stonebridge asked.

"Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia?" Scott asked, at the same time as his partner.

"No, you idiots! The Marksman's waterpark! It's the last place Baxter will think to look!"

"Why?"

"Don't question it! To the waterpark!" Grant ordered. The rest of the plane ride was filled with cheers. Meanwhile, Baxter, armed in black Kevlar, sat alone at the previous HQ, with Scott and Stonebridge's confidential files spread out across the stainless steel table before him. His cell phone rang with the catchy theme song and he answered it with swag, pausing to sip on a freshly brewed cup of Oprah's chai tea, the hidden treasure among Grant's top-secret tea stash.

"Took you long enough. Is everything set?" Baxter asked, thrumming his fingers against the side of the table. The answer was satisfactory and he smirked. "Good. Now, assemble the rest of your men. When the time comes we must be ready to shed the blood of their two finest agents! Do not disappoint me. Baxter out!"


End file.
